What Quatre Wants
by Mephisto Waltz
Summary: 3x4. An instance that demonstrates just how whipped Trowa really is. It involves naked acrobatics, mounting a table and edible bodypaint. Fluff.


What Quatre Wants. . .  
  
By M. Waltz  
  
A Sketchy Deal  
  
"I think I'd like to take an art class." The overworked Winner Heir burst into the living room brimming with excitement. He held up the most recent community college prospectus, rolled in a tight cylinder. Trowa glanced up from his newly purchased book of Being and Nothingness to ponder his mate's exclamation.  
"Art is a prime element of the human animal," Trowa mused, using his index finger as a marker, "it pushes the boundaries of the human consciousness and formulates new standards for the entire species. Art is- in essence- one of the humanity's prime evolutionary sparks. I think taking an art class would be good for you."  
Quatre blinked.  
"Are you saying I need to evolve, my love?" The youthful politician raised one finely groomed eyebrow, all the while suppressing his adorable smile. His self-educating lover shook his head seriously.  
"Of course not- I figured you doubted the class' value in the larger scheme of your hectic life, so I offered you some positive justification." Trowa frowned and bit his lip. "I do think you should take it, since you need to get away from that blasted phone.Too many sisters . . . too many running mouths. . ."  
"Oh Trowa, you're so melodramatic!" Quatre laughed and threw himself into his mate's arms. With a bit of a grumble, Trowa left Sartre to his own devices to wrap his arms around Quatre's waist. The suit jacket fell from the blond boy's elfin body, and the feeling of silk against cotton intensified their mutual desire. Pretty, puckered lips brushed against a protesting mouth, which silenced Quatre's sniggering. "I'm sorry". . .Kiss. "My love". . .Kiss. "Were you" . . .Kiss. . . "Reading that?" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Trowa fell back onto the couch, overcome by Quatre's squirming body.  
"Your kisses. . ."Breathless moan. "Seem to. . ."Gasp! "Contradict. . ."Whimper. "Sartrean existentialism, Quatre." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss, then come up for air. "Man has no free will when faced with your unyielding love. Aristotle is right- Fate has dictated me right into your bed.. .Not that he said those exact. . . Quatre, don't do that!" Trowa pulled the little pawing hands from his crotch. "Words! Damn it! I. . . I will. . .submit. Now. . ." Trowa's husky voice suddenly turned firm. "What do you want?"  
"Trowa!" Quatre exclaimed and sat back on his haunches. He appeared insulted, but he was obviously holding back a private joke. "Are you implying that I have an ulterior motive in seducing you away from your boring philosophy?" The pretty heir huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm offended."  
"You're a liar." A wicked smile graced Trowa's Grecian features. Quatre blushed and giggled a bit.  
"No! I just. . .well. . ." He smacked his lover's chest with the college prospectus. "Do you really think this art class is a good idea? I mean- I'm so busy, with the merger and the formation of our newest satellite organization, plus the new policy L4's discussing with earth, I don't think I can. . ."  
"Quatre, you need this art class. You need to get out of this house- away from work- and do something that's constructive-reconstructive- for your mind and soul."  
"Soul, huh? I'm not sure Sartre would agree with that. . ." Quatre announced glibly. However, one of Trowa's firm looks had Quatre convinced. "Talk about not having free will. Eep!" The blond bureaucrat scowled playfully, and wrapped his arms around the ex-pilot's neck. He nodded and sighed happily.  
"You'll support me, right? One hundred percent?" Quatre asked hopefully, pressing the length of his body against Trowa's. Flicking a piece of irritating hair from Quatre's eye, the quiet boy nodded.  
"Of course. Always."  
A sudden mischievous light flickered in Quatre's eye. Trowa frowned.  
"What was that?"  
"What was what?" Quatre asked innocently, burying his face and mouth in the crook of Trowa's neck.  
"That. . . that- Quatre, what are you up to?"  
"Nothing." Said boy emerged for air. "What you said made me happy." He responded sincerely. "I feel so blessed that you love me enough to support me."  
"Quatre, I will whole-heartedly support any endeavour you wish to pursue. You know I'll do anything for you." Trowa murmured affectionately, overcome by both the begging eyes and the sensation of Quatre's body atop his own.  
The flash again.  
"Quatre!"  
"Oh Trowa!" Quatre exclaimed. "I'm so glad!" Wet Kiss on cheek. Wet Kiss on forehead. Wet kiss on nose and a big sloppy kiss on the lips. "In that case, can you do something for me?"  
Trowa tensed and sighed. He knew it.  
"Quatre, I can't draw. I'm lousy. I can't even draw a straight line. I'm sure you'll make some friends there. You're. . .friendly." He offered blandly. "I guess. . .If you want, I can come with you, but don't enrol me or anything- It'll be embarrassing. . .for both of us."  
Quatre hung his head a bit and shrugged.  
". . .but. . .you'll come, right?"  
"If that's what you want."  
"I mean. .." Quatre continued, snuggling closer against Trowa's body. "You can just stand there, or sit there or lay down or whatever, right?"  
"Yes. That sounds fine."  
"Great!"  
In a flash of blonde hair and flailing limbs, Quatre jumped off his flabbergasted mate to his more important love- the phone. Opening the college handbook, he quickly scanned the page and, finding his treasure, began dialling. Trowa looked on slightly bemused (and quite apprehensive.)  
  
"Doctor Singh? Hello! It's Quatre Raberba Winner. Yes!. . .I'm fine, thank you. And yourself? Great! Anyway, it's a done deal- the course can run! You have the fifteenth person right here- can I register on Tuesday. Okay. And Trowa's coming.. . . I know!. . I know!!! No, no- he's fine with it. I've made him do far worse things than this." Trowa perked up his ears, suddenly growing concerned. ". . .can he. . . still? Oh yes, you have no idea! Sometimes I forget that he's alive- that he's not a bloody statue- he'll just sit in the same position for hours on end. . .uh huh. . .uh huh. . .flexible?. . .yes, he can bend any which way- I can attest to that.. . ." Quatre smiled deviously at his paramour who was unexpectedly greeted with a cold chill. "Do we need to do any preparation?. .. Oh, don't worry about that. . .Proportional or. .. oh, he's very proportional, I think- He's flawless! You'll just love him! Well, Doctor, I think I need to get off the phone- I'm extremely busy right now, you understand. . . Yes. . .Then we shall see you Tuesday! Thank you. Buh bye."  
Grinning from ear to ear, Quatre set down the phone and glanced over at his love.  
"Quatre. . ." Trowa growled low and began to move towards the smiling boy. Quatre, giddy and fearful, looked around, then backed himself into a glass end table. "Quatre Raberba Winner, what the hell was. . ."  
"Oh Trowa!" Quatre gasped and threw himself at his lover. Trowa was so taken aback they both tumbled onto the Persian Rug. . . with Quatre on top, of course.  
"Quatre, get off me! You conniving, devious little. . ."  
"Please? You said you would do anything for me!" Quatre gasped and took the clenched hands in his. "I asked you if you would come with me and you said yes, that you would just sit there or whatnot. I never lied to you. . ."  
"Quatre, I don't like people looking at me. Your teacher sounds like a letch. . ."  
"My teacher is not a letch!" Quatre laughed. "You think I'd let her put her hands on you? I'm the only one who gets to touch you. . ."  
"And that's certainly debatable right now. . ."  
"Trowa!" Quatre whined adorably. "The course can't run unless we find a model! It's a figure drawing course, Trowa! We need a figure. . .and what better way to get me excited about art than to. . .use. . .your. . .figure. . ." Quatre's voice grew thick as his eyes drank in his lover's circus-hardened body, modestly clothed in fashionable jeans and a knit turtleneck. Shaking his head, he pouted. "Please, please- I'll be there with you. If you hate it, you can leave. However, you promised me that you would do anything for me, and. . .well. . .this "something" is sort of contained in the concept of "anything", to use vocabulary that you would understand, so. . .Trowa. . .It'll be nice for us to do something together. . .even though you'll be doing "nothing". . ."  
"'Nothing' is not. . .oh wait, shit, "nothing" is contained in the concept of anything, since it's a "thing". . ." Trowa mused and began to confuse himself. Suddenly, it was all forgotten with a sudden realization.  
"Quatre, you're taking a college 'figure drawing' class? Don't they use nude models?" He asked patronizingly. Offended by the tone, Quatre sniffed and shrugged.  
"I didn't ask. . ."  
"No." Trowa was firm. "I won't."  
"You already agreed." Quatre answered flippantly. "If you don't, I'll never make love to you again. . ."  
"I can hold out longer than you can, you little satyr. . ." Trowa growled.  
Quatre thought about this.  
"Please, please, please?" Quatre wailed. " Oh Trowa!"  
"Don't you care that people will be staring at me,analyzing me and marking my faults?"  
"You don't have any faults." Quatre interrupted. Trowa rolled his eyes.  
"Quatre, you don't care that people will see me naked? Strangers?"  
"No one's going to touch you- If anyone tries I'll put a gun to their head. But them looking at you. . .I think it's a turn on." He ended shyly, with a blush.  
"You think my exhibitionism is a turn on?"  
". . .I think you loving me enough to do this is a turn on. But, also you exposing yourself to the world is pretty sexy. All of them wanting you. . .but not being able to have you because you're mine. . ." Quatre let loose a horny mew. "They'll flip through their sketch pads at home and they'll think of you- but only I get to take home the original. They just get second and third rate interpretations." Quatre smiled dreamily, looking innocent though his words were slightly perverted. Trowa loved this juxtaposing of Quatres- of the "chaste" hero with the powerful (sluttish) Colony King.  
"Quatre. . ."  
"I want to get really good and draw a picture of you- one that I can be proud of. This will give me chances to practice." Quatre offered weakly. Trowa just sighed.  
"You owe me, Mr. Winner. You owe me so much that. . ."  
"Yes, yes. . ." Quatre tossed that all aside. "So, would you like to cash in now? I'd rather like to go down on you. . ." He licked his lips.  
Trowa chuckled and closed his eyes to soothe his pounding headache.  
"You are such a little wanton. . ."  
"Fine then," Quatre began to stand. "I'll get back to my office and return my calls. . ." Trowa grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into a kiss.  
"I didn't say don't."  
  
***  
  
"Here we are, Doctor Singh! And so excited! Oooo! Are we using conte today?"  
"Settle down, Mr. Winner." The aging (and not gracefully) professor from L5 patiently removed Quatre's hand from the supply shelf. "You need to be able to crawl before you can run a marathon." Trowa selected a piece of "conte" and studied its compositional structure. "Mr. Barton. . ." She warned. Shrugging, he put the strange medium back in the drawer.  
"Now then- you can join the rest of the class in room 134b, Quatre. I trust you purchased your sketchbook, 2B, 4B and 6B pencils. . ." The wizened woman nodded as Quatre produced his utensils in his sweaty, red hands. "Excellent. Now, scoot off, young man- I believe your friends are already there. Let me see. . .the perpetual talking machine and the girl who looks like a boy. . ."  
"Duo and Hilde are here?!?" Trowa boomed, eyes bugged out with fear. Quatre's eyes bugged out too, but hardly for the same reason.  
"Trowa! You can't use your bedroom voice in public!" He hissed loudly.  
"Doctor Singh, would you please relocate Mr. Winner immediately? He is presently in mortal danger." Trowa seethed. Quatre gasped.  
"What?" She turned up her hearing aid. But Quatre was long gone, probably cowering in Duo's. . .err. . .Hilde's protective arms.  
"Well! What an excitable young man!" The artist scratched her balding head, then turned her watery gaze on the model. "No matter. Alright, get your clothes off. C'mon! Let's see what we have to work with!" She began to claw at his shirt, and suddenly, Trowa was shirtless.  
"Doctor Singh. . .when you told Quatre you required a "nude" model, does that entail total "nudity" or simply partial, or. . ."  
"Mr. Barton, nudity is generally understood as the state of being naked." She pointed out sagaciously.  
"I realize that, but. . ."  
"Take'em off!" She roared. Scared quite shitless, Trowa whipped his pants off in record time. She scrutinized him loudly. "I bet Winner buys your undies for you, doesn't he?"  
Trowa glanced down at his transformer boxers and blushed.  
"Actually, I think these are his. . ."  
"Well then, all the more reason to take them off!" She cackled. Trowa wanted to cry.  
"Doctor, shouldn't I be allowed to divest in peace?"  
"Mr. Barton, I'm just trying to make the transition easier for you." The old artist spoke sincerely. "Remember- there will be sixteen pairs of eyes out there, waiting to draw every crack and cranny of your naked body. I need to make sure that all your parts are normal, or at least intact. Now. . ."She snapped the electric-blue elastic waistband of Trowa's handsome transformer boxers. "Drop'em."  
Hiding his blushing face behind his hair, Trowa shimmied out of his underwear, leaving them in a wrinkled pool on the ground.  
"Hmm. . ."  
Trowa shut his eyes and regulated his breathing- he would not crumble under this daft old woman's piercing stare.  
"Hmm. . .yes. . .turn around." He did as he was told. "Not so robot- like! Loosen up a bit! Visualize Jell-O!" Trowa kept turning and wobbled his arms. "Mr. Barton! I don't believe you were an acrobat- you look like a damned fool. Open your eyes and be mature about this!"  
He opened his eyes and stared at the wall as the dwarfish woman scuttled about poking him.  
"How long can you hold a handstand?" She asked.  
"Five minutes, maybe. . .I've never timed it."  
"Don't sound so suspicious- the last four classes are Drawing the Figure in Deep Space, y'know? I'll need you to do a wide range of acrobatic poses."  
"The last four. . .Doctor Singh, I didn't agree to pose for all twelve of your classes."  
"True, but Winner signed your life over to me, Mr. Barton." She fished out a colourful document, which Trowa perused thoroughly.  
"I don't believe this!" Trowa gaped. "Quatre isn't my legal guardian! Even if this statement was valid, how would you get around the child pornography laws! This is fraudulent!"  
"Nuh-uh!" She snatched it back. "Now, put this on."  
Trowa was quite thankful for the robe, even if it was a magenta kimono.  
"You'll be a lovely specimen. . .I mean model. . .even if your head is a little big."  
"My head?"  
"Follow me, Mr. Barton, and mind the state of your penis. They often. . .shrink, in these kinds of instances."  
"What? Do you want me to be erect?" Trowa asked, blinking thrice. The elderly professor thought about it, then shrugged.  
"Wouldn't mind- but, then again, I'm old and haven't seen much action lately. Do what you like, just don't let it get frightened and hide.  
Trowa was screaming inside as he followed the dippy old woman to his social doom.  
  
***  
  
"In this introductory class, I will be observing your technique and your interpretations of our subject. Everyone is coming from different backgrounds so I'm sure that all of you, as artists, will have different visions. We will be working in fifteen-minute intervals, then closer to the end of the class we will be speed sketching, an exercise in which the model will move into a different position every five, then three minutes. Are there any questions? Yes?"  
"May I leave now?"  
"No Mr. Barton, you may not. Any other questions?"  
"Will these be graded, Doctor Singh?"  
"No, it's just an exercise Miss Schbei. . .schbeek. . .Miss Hilde."  
"Can we draw cartoons?"  
"No, Mr. Maxwell. This is a figure drawing course."  
"Caricatures?"  
"I will not repeat myself."  
"Shoot. Well then, I suck."  
"It's alright, Duo. You can have some of my sketches and you can pretend that they're yours." Quatre whispered.  
"Hey, Thanks Quat!"  
"Alright, alright!" The professor's voice was nasal and grated on Trowa's jittery nerves. She raised a finger and motioned him forward. He walked with his head bowed. Had he raised it, he would've noticed the circus apparatus hanging from the ceiling. However, luckily, he did not.  
"Would you kindly disrobe and mount the table?"  
Chortles and sniggers reverberated throughout the sterile classroom. Quatre blushed fiercely. Trowa had a blush to match.  
"Get on the table!" Professor Singh hissed and tore the kimono from his freezing torso.  
And so it came to be that Trowa Barton was naked in front of a giggling swarm of talent less hacks. At first, he was cold, then flushed, then quivering, then paralyzed. And finally, cold again.  
This all took place within the course of thirty seconds.  
"Now, get up there- there's a good boy- face the window. We're going to do a profile first, so. ..just a minute." The doctor hopped up on the table and began to fuss with Trowa's legendary bangs. "Let me just fix this. . ."  
"Doctor Singh, don't even bother. . ." Quatre sighed.  
"But from this side his hair obscures his whole face!" She huffed.  
"I think you should get him a headband!" Offered Duo helpfully. Trowa let loose a perfect imitation of Heero's patented snarl, which quickly put Duo in his place.  
"It won't do you any good, Doctor." Trowa muttered.  
"Fine, fine! Well, at least you won't have to worry about drawing his sneering face." She positioned him then hopped off the table. "Fifteen minutes, go!"  
  
***  
"His head looks like a pineapple."  
"Mr. Maxwell, don't insult the model."  
"Oh, sorry, I meant my drawing."  
"Look at mine!"  
"Wow, that's awesome, Hilde. Quatre looks pretty good too. . ."  
"Hey? What was that? Hilde! You're supposed to be drawing Trowa!"  
"Miss Schbeek. . .schbeik. . .You there! No pornography! Here, give it to me. . ."  
"H. ..hey! Doctor Singh, aren't you going to throw that out?"  
"Not now, Mr. Winner. Okay, change positions. Fresh piece of paper. Frontal, standing view."  
"Shit."  
"Mr. Barton, kindly keep your comments to yourself. Stand up straight, lift your head- no, up- damn that hair. Fifteen minutes."  
  
"I think you're in trouble, Quatre."  
"He told me last night that he doesn't love me anymore and he threatened to kill me outside in the hall."  
"Aww! How romantic! Just like Heero and Relena! You two are gonna be together forever! Duo, why don't you ever threaten to kill me, huh?"  
"Hilde, I will kill you. . ."  
"I love you Duo!"  
"Please be quiet."  
"Mr. Barton! Don't move your mouth!"  
"I never noticed how scary Trow-man looks when he's angry. . ."  
"I never noticed how sexy he looks when he's naked. It's a good thing we don't have to draw Duo- he's getting a beer belly."  
"I'm getting a tea-belly!"  
"There's no such thing, Quatre!"  
"This is so stupid. . ."  
"Mr. Barton! Change position. Turn around and face the blackboard."  
  
"Trowa's in trouble."  
"Trow-man, are you clenching?"  
"Duo!"  
"Sorry. Just wondering. Bet he's clenching his "teeth" now. Hah hah!"  
"I'm. . .not. . .clenching. . .anything."  
"Doctor Singh, look at my picture!"  
"Wonderful miss Schb. . .Hilde. You certainly have a style all your own."  
"Oh, I've drawn Trowa before. At the circus, in his trailer, working on his Gundam, sleeping, making love to. . ."  
"I don't believe that it's in good taste for an art class to be talking about their model as if he weren't there."  
"I agree, Mr. Winner. Class, Mr. Barton is doing this out of the kindness of his heart and for a very meagre sum of money, which he doesn't need because he has a sugar daddy. I think the abuse needs to stop. You all need to focus on your technique, which is, I must say, looking pretty damn poor. Now draw! Draw as you've never drawn before!"  
  
Trowa didn't bother to wave to Hilde and Duo as they sped off in their makeshift space cruiser. Quatre waved and bounced up and down.  
"Wasn't that fun?" He asked, latching onto Trowa's arm as they strolled down the boulevard to the Winner mansion. "It was nice to see Duo and Hilde again, wasn't it? They said they wanted to do something as a couple that didn't involve screwdrivers and jackhammers, so I told them about this class. Wasn't it kind of me?"  
Trowa glowered, but offered no verbal response. Quatre continued to chatter.  
"Doctor Singh said I have a good eye. She complimented me on my composition- she really liked the one I did of you with your nose in the blackboard. I like it too- it looks like you were naughty and are on a Time Out. Come to think of it, you kinda were on a Time Out because you kept swearing. You should try to keep quiet when we're drawing your face- my sketch was ruined!"  
"Oh woe is you." Trowa muttered under his breath  
"Y. . .you should've seen Duo's sketches." Quatre faltered and looked at the ground. "They were really cute. He isn't that terrible; it's just that he's not good with proportions. The one picture did kind of look like a pineapple, though." Quatre ended wistfully. Without warning, Quatre grabbed Trowa's face and kissed him passionately. He pulled away. Quatre smiled sadly and caressed his lover's forearm. "Thank you, Trowa, my love." He murmured fondly. "You don't know how much this means to me. I've always wanted to do this, and was always too busy or cowardly to pursue it. You do so much for me. If you weren't there, I don't think I'd be inspired enough to go. I love. . ."He drawled out the word. "drawing you. And your head does not look like a pineapple. You are so so so so so so so so so so so so. . ."  
"Alright, Quatre."  
"Good to me. Do you still love me?"  
"I hate you."  
"In Heero talk, that means you love me!" Quatre laughed. They walked up the front steps hand in hand. Suddenly, the politician threw himself against the door, barring the way.  
"So. . .you'll do it next week, right?"  
"Quatre. . ."Trowa protested. The ex-mercenary was silenced with a smooch.  
"Please? I promise we'll be good! I'll make Duo and Hilde keep their comments to themselves. I know- I'll tell them to put duct tape over their mouths! I know they have a lot at home. . ."  
"Quatre. . ."  
"Trowa. I love you."  
Quatre was so sincere Trowa couldn't help but crumble.  
"I hate it when you do that." He grumbled. Quatre unlocked the door, giggling the entire time.  
"I know, I know. . ."Master Winner flicked the light switch.  
"You make me feel impotent." Trowa carped playfully.  
"Oh shush."  
"I hate that place. Hilde violates me with her eyes. . ."  
"Trowa!"  
"She's going to steal me away. . ."  
"Mr. Barton!"  
"Never call me that again. Never." Trowa was adamant. "Now, let's see your drawings." Gleefully, Quatre whipped out his sketchbook. Then he paused.  
"Can you wait? I want to show you when I'm good."  
Trowa was about to protest, but Quatre's pleading gaze rendered him unable.  
"Of course."  
  
***  
  
Eleven weeks later, Trowa could be found sitting on their veranda reading. It irked him that he was still reading the Forward after thirteen weeks. With a snort he tossed the book, overcome with frustration. He stretched out on the polka-dot chaise, his joints creaking like his motorcycle's poorly oiled breaks. He hadn't had time in the last three months to keep his deprived vehicle maintained, not with Quatre's constant hounding. All of Quatre's free time was spent sketching Trowa. No matter where Trowa had gone, Quatre had pursued, armed with his soft pencils and a yellowed sketchpad. Quatre had always been a tad obsessive compulsive, which is why he was such a good businessman. Trowa had to give credit where it was due- Quatre had still managed to magically juggle his hectic schedule and his new obsession.  
He was a talented boy.  
But he was driving his lover batty.  
"Trowa!"  
The introverted young academic fell off the lawn chair and snuck himself underneath. Five minutes. All he needed was five minutes of peace. Quatre could surely offer five minutes after twelve of the most embarrassing two-hour segments of Trowa's life. The last class had been the worst- hanging from the trapeze apparatus, stark naked. It was mortifying and it trivialized everything the circus stood for.  
It was a circus of a circus!  
  
"Mr. Barton, you need to hold that pose for ten minutes- will that be okay? You won't dislocate your arms or anything. . ."  
"If you do, make sure not to grimace! It'll ruin my picture!"  
"Duo!  
"Hey, I'm getting good! I don't want him to jeopardize my picture 'cause he's a wimp!"  
"Maxwell, meet me outside in the parking lot after class."  
"Sure thing, buddy- but only if your shoulders are dislocated."  
"Doctor Singh, can we use conte to celebrate our last class?"  
"Quatre, what's celebratory about conte?"  
"I. . .I just like it."  
"You may use conte if you wish, Mr. Winner. Now then, I want you to observe the way the musculature is affected by the pose. We've been working with the dynamic poses over the last six weeks- foreshortening and the figure in deep space. I'd like you to finish two sketches- one of our model from the front, and one from the back. Things I need you to consider are the following: 1) note the arched back and how it elevates the ribcage. You'll need to use your shading techniques to achieve the curve of the spine. 2) The musculature of the shoulders and upper arms is shortened. Don't worry about the neck because it's hidden in the bulk of his shoulders. 3) The hands and feet are tricky- the feet are totally loose and unflexed, which is something we rarely come across. The fingers are tight, as are the wrists, so you need to give some detail to the wrists and forearms. Any questions?"  
"No questions. Just start."  
"Mr. Barton, I am the teacher, but. . .oh what the hell. Start before he faints."  
  
"Trowa? Are you out here?" Quatre poked his head out. He was wearing a beret. Trowa closed his eyes tightly, and was again bombarded with embarrassing memories.  
  
"How was that? Did everyone finish? Good. Mr. Barton, you can dismount the apparatus. We'll take a five minute break. Then we'll be working on an inverted pose."  
"I.. inverted?"  
"I'd like you to hang upside down from the trapeze, Mr. Barton. It'll give your arms a break before we do the handstand position."  
"Oo oo! Doctor Singh, can we use conte to colour in Trowa's face when the blood rushes to it?"  
"Go nuts, Mr. Winner."  
"Hey Quat, have you and Trowa ever done it upside down?"  
"Oh sure, all the time. We have a rope suspended above our bed and sometimes. . ."  
"Quatre. . ."  
"Trowa does this thing where he hangs down, and he starts to. . ."  
"Quatre Raberba Winner!"  
"Oops! Sorry."  
"Poor Trowa! If you fight with Quatre, you can stay with us. We only have one bed, but it's big enough for the three of us. . ."  
"Hilde!"  
"Or we could build you a hammock above it. . ."  
"Mr. Barton, kindly get yourself back up there. We'll start whenever you're ready."  
"Man, with his hair all floppy like that, his head's really gonna look like a pineapple."  
"A red pineapple. Oh my poor Trowa!"  
"Now, lower your torso and extend your arms toward the floor. Now let them dangle. Good. Class, this may be your most difficult drawing. I do not want anyone turning their heads to see him right side up- that's cheating. Observe the muscles in the legs how they've flattened. His back is arched similarly to the previous sketch, and the shoulders are still scrunched. However, the hands are unflexed and this affects the composition of the arms. Five minutes per sketch- make sure to rotate. Go."  
"Psst. Quatre. Is it just me, or does Trow-man look like he has a baby hard-on?"  
"That is correct, Mr. Maxwell. The limp penis is also a victim of gravity. From this angle, we get a clear shot of the underside of the subject's testicles, which is a view we haven't had the pleasure of sketching."  
  
He'd never experienced anything more embarrassing than having the old woman point to his testicles with a laser pointer. It was mortifying.  
  
"Trowa? Come on! Where are you?"  
  
The handstand had been disastrous as well. It was one thing performing in front of thousands of people, each one more anonymous than the last. It was another thing to be naked and flapping in the breeze in front of the porno twins. Doctor Singh had taken "tacky" sketches from both Duo and Hilde.  
The old woman now had a significant collection of lewd drawings starring Quatre and himself.  
But, when it was all over, nothing felt more comforting than the sensation of fuchsia silk against his cold skin. For the second hour, he sat on the sidelines while they sketched the female model, an older, Olympic tumbler from L2. Trowa admired her confidence and shamelessly flirted with her in Quatre's presence. Of course, it did nothing. Quatre was too wrapped up in his exciting new hobby to consider Trowa anything but his model.  
  
"Trowa, what are you doing under the chaise?"  
Peeking up from under his hood of hair, Trowa sighed. He couldn't lie.  
"Hiding from your pencils."  
"Oh my poor Trowa!" Quatre giggled and helped his lover to his feet. "I just sharpened them to their bitter end. They died a noble death."  
"Thank god- I was ready to put out a hit."  
"Oh, you were not." They climbed onto the lawn chair to watch the impending storm brew. Trowa was subtle in his search for Quatre's pencils. He stroked Quatre's hips around the pockets and rubbed his lover's chest. Nothing. "I left them in the den! Don't you trust me? Honestly!"  
". . .Just wanted to be sure." He muttered.  
"I brought my pad out, though."  
"Hmm."  
"Don't you want to see my sketches now?"  
"Quatre, there are sides of me captured in those sketches that I never want to see."  
"What are you talking about? Don't be vain. You were wonderful. Doctor Singh said that you were the best model she's ever had- aside from the fact that you couldn't keep your mouth shut- what was with that?"  
"I. . ."  
"A whole new side of you, my love." Quatre picked his sketchbook up off the floor. "Please? Please can I show you? I'm. . .really proud of them." He was so hopeful. Trowa mentally cursed that hopefulness.  
"Why can't I say no to you?"  
"You do say no to me; I just don't accept it."  
"Fine. Show me one."  
"One?!?"  
"One."  
"Oh, alright. Just a minute." The businessman-turned-beatnik flipped through his sketchbook. "No. . no. . .no. . .n. . .n. . ."Huffing, he turned the book over and extracted a large loose sheet. He looked at it fondly. "This is really the only one I finished- I just completed the shading today. It's my favourite. Will. . .will you look at it?"  
"If you want me to see it."  
Quatre rose to his feet. "I do."  
He presented his masterpiece.  
Trowa was again, overcome with embarrassment.  
"Oh, Quatre." His lover had rendered him speechless. Quatre was flush with pleasure.  
"You were so tired after class last night you fell asleep on the couch with your book still in your hand. You really wanted to finish that forward last night!" Quatre laughed. "I was going to carry you upstairs, but I was inspired. The glow of the fireplace created the most wonderful shadows, and it was just the nicest position. I'm still not great at drapery, so I drew you nude, but I included your favourite blanket out of modesty- it turned out not bad, huh? Maybe I should take a still life course. My favourite part is your hand clutching that stupid book. It's so. . .well it's you, Trowa. Everyone sees you as the acrobat- flipping and tumbling and always in danger. But, really, this is you- curled up on the couch, struggling with time, and succumbing to slumber." He hid behind his bleached bangs. "Sorry, that was kind of corny."  
"A bit." Trowa murmured with a smile, still studying the portrait.  
"D. . .do you like it?"  
"It's beautiful. You'll make me vain drawing like this."  
"I'm going to put it in my office, if that's okay. So, when work gets really busy and I loose track of time, I can look up at this and remember what's waiting for me just in the next room." Quatre kissed Trowa chastely. "I love you so much- I'm sorry you had to go through with that!"  
"It's fine."  
"No, I mean it! And I want to make it up to you!" Quatre flew over the chaise and scurried into the house.  
"What are you doing?" Trowa hollered. All he heard were Quatre- cackles. "Quatre?"  
"Yes?" He returned with a non-descript plastic bag filled with. . .something.  
"What is that?"  
"Trowa, because you've been so good to me, I got you a present." He produced a pallet case. "I'm going to let you draw me!"  
"Quatre, I can't draw!" Trowa groaned. "I told you that."  
". . .oh yeah. I meant paint, anyway."  
"I'm an even worse painter. .."  
"Just take it!" Quatre shoved the pallet into Trowa's arms. The acrobat looked up at the sky for support, but found nothing.  
"It's a nice thought, but you shouldn't have bought. . .wait." He held the tray at eyelevel and read. " Edible Erotic Bodypaint for the Bedroom Artist- six colours/six flavours, in chocolate, mint, orange, strawberry, banana and irish cream."  
"Every kid's dream - the chance to eat paint." Quatre wiggled his eyebrows. "So. . .why don't we go upstairs and make me a masterpiece?"  
"Even if that bullshit about art as an evolutionary spark is true, this paint is making me feel rather primal." Trowa opened the paint box, dipped two fingers into the chocolate paint, and dragged them across his cheeks. Quatre plopped the silly beret onto Trowa's head. Growling, Trowa grabbed Quatre and swung the squealing thing over his shoulder.  
"Trowa Barton! Let me down!"  
"No."  
"Trowa!"  
"No."  
"T. .."  
"No. And this will probably be the only time I'm ever able to say no to you. For, it seems, that I've discovered my purpose in life, and it's to agree with your every whim. I'm not complaining, just let me have my moment. Just once, let me have it."  
  
And Trowa got what he wanted- a paint-covered Quatre and a night without the electric pencil sharpener.  
  
Fin?  
  
Since Quatre didn't read the expiration date on the edible body paint, Trowa gets paint poisoning and is bed ridden. Just what does Trowa want from his lover and how does he get it? What Trowa wants. . . Review! 


End file.
